Sand Castles & Fingerpaints
by Kudra23
Summary: Postwar, postHogwarts: Harry and Draco meet up at a Ministry celebration, and wackiness ensues. Pairing: HarryDraco
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing in the universe created by JK Rowling and associates. I gain only personal pleasure from this venture.

written for ladyaubrey's birthday, using: goblet, defile, gear

Harry had a headache the size of Dudley's arse. In fact, Harry could say without question that he'd rather sing an ode to said arse than be in his present location: seated beside Rufus Scrimgeour at an awards ceremony. It was considered a position of honor to be placed at the head table, brushing thighs with the most esteemed Minister for Magic. He'd hoped that once he fulfilled his crap destiny and offed His Snakeliness, people would leave him to his fingerpaints and sand castles, but no such luck.

So here he was, chugging goblet after goblet of wine, and staring rather rudely at his dedicated followers. He fingered his homemade necklace for comfort; he'd chosen each creamy shell himself from his very first trip to the beach last week, and considered it his finest achievement. Apparently, several hundred witches and wizards disagreed, for they said nothing of the spectacular necklace, and focused only on his erstwhile defeat of old Voldie.

The Dark Lord had amassed an army of witches, wizards and magical creatures. He'd completed a blood ritual to drain magic from his followers, and thus, had never been more powerful. He had an arsenal of Dark offensives and counteroffensives. Harry had love and a Muggle shotgun. Once he'd AK'd Nagini, the final Horcrux, to Voldemort's supreme displeasure, he'd tossed his wand aside and pulled the shotgun from his cloak. Tom was amping up for a bit of verbal repartee, and was rather surprised when his head exploded. Thankfully, his magical thievery left his followers weak, kittenish, and ripe for a slap down by the Aurors.

Now, the ungrateful wretches he'd saved were torturing him to show their thanks. Hermione herself, the traitor, had come to drag him from his new home in the ruins of the house at Godric's Hollow. She'd subjected him to a boring speech about his creepy mourning behavior, and how he needed to take his esteemed place in Wizarding society.

Said society, after a spread in every Wizarding paper featuring photos of the Boy Who Lived looking scruffy and unkempt, fingerpainting the crumbling walls of his parents' old house, had once again grown slightly divisive in their loyalties. Most hailed him for his victory, and used grieving as a handy excuse for his odd behavior. There was a small faction, however, that judged him a dangerous and Dark wizard just waiting to become the next half-blooded despot.

"_And now_," Percy Weasley boomed, interrupting his thoughts, "Let's hear from the Man of the Hour, our world's greatest Hero and Defeater of the Dark Lord, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!" A roar of cheering and applause met this announcement.

Harry, startled, rose reluctantly from his seat and headed for the podium. He'd been forewarned, of course, that a speech was required, but every word he'd attempted to write in advance had sounded trite and dishonest. 'Maybe I can get away with being like Dumbledore,' he thought, sadly reflecting on the deceased Headmaster. 'Dumbledore could say, "Pollywumps and Scittlehinks; one never knows which to choose," and everyone would cheer madly.'

Hermione nodded primly from her place in the front row, and then elbowed Ron sharply until he produced a weak smile. The redhead had expected the end of the war to be one long celebration, but his best mate had chosen _now_ to go off the deep end, spending most of his time at that creepy, decrepit house. Most of the upscale parties had a very selective invite list, and Harry had refused to attend a single one, thereby dooming Ron to the less glamorous festivities of the Weasley clan and the Order.

Ron hadn't thought he could ever feel like more of a sidekick than he did at Hogwarts, but here he was, watching Harry deal ungraciously with the adulation and praise of thousands, and feeling rather bitter. The git wasn't even wearing dress robes! Instead, he sported dirty Muggle jeans, trainers, a long-sleeved black t-shirt that was spattered with paint, and an ugly necklace made of string and shells. His hair was a riot of black with swatches of bright color where he'd run his hands through it. He was the Lord of both Potter and Black fortunes, and could've afforded to look better than a Malfoy, but no. He was more interested in building sand castles than living in a real one. If Ron was relegated to being Harry Potter's sidekick, he wanted to reap the benefits of his position, damn it!

Harry looked out over the crowd from behind the podium. The large amount of wine he'd consumed was rather evident in his slightly swaying posture, and the way his hands gripped fiercely at the stand to steady himself. The roar of the crowd was deafening, and Harry winced, wishing for the solitude of his house. They were all staring at him like a bug under a microscope, waiting for him to be their hero, to live up to their impossible expectations. He was to speak grandly of his defeat of the Dark Lord, his desire to become an Auror to continue the fight against big, bad wizards, and thank the Ministry and fans profusely for their 'support'.

"Hi," he said uncertainly, and when witches everywhere cooed, he flinched. "Thanks for… you know, the Order of Merlin and all that. I really appreciate it." He paused, fully aware that he sounded about as grateful and sincere as a Hippogriff getting an enema. Screw that. "It's just hard to feel like I deserve an award for murder," he said honestly.

Dead silence followed his words. Hermione shook her head in defeat and Ron glared balefully, feeling that he could've given a _much_ better victory speech.

Harry continued, "It's just, everyone likes to say I _defeated_ the Dark Lord, because that's a much nicer, safer, and more applaud-able way of putting it. In point of fact, I shot Tom Riddle and his head exploded. One of his eyeballs came to land at my feet." A pause. "I stomped on it."

The crowd murmured their displeasure. Children wailed, mothers glared, and his friends and family looked at him reproachfully. The only calm expression belonged to Remus Lupin.

"I'm just saying," he struggled to explain, "Why applaud me? I'm the weapon. Applaud the Healers and the Aurors and the teachers. Give _them_ Orders of Merlin, First Class. Not the dirty politicians. Not the assassin. There's no hero here, just a boy with a split soul and blood on his hands."

Scrimgeour was motioning frantically for him to shut up. Harry grinned maniacally at him, and turned back to the crowd.

"I'm not a hero, but I'm not a demon either. It's too easy to place all your hopes and fears on one target rather than seeing the big picture. The real heroes and demons are amongst you." He looked pointedly at Scrimgeour. "I'm supposed to wax poetical about the Ministry's supreme and laudable efforts, but it's a bunch of bloody bullshit. The Ministry, whether run by Fudge or Scrimgeour, has been systematically against supporting the war effort throughout Tom Riddle's entire reign."

At this, the crowd leaned collectively forward in their seats, suddenly interested in what he had to say.

"If it hadn't been for a band of renegades and vigilantes organized by Albus Dumbledore, and several loyal spies, we'd be sporting Death Eater gear and hailing our new autocrat." Harry eyed them, looking incongruously harsh and serious in his tattered attire. "The Dark Lord is dead, but the war at home will take even more cunning and effort. The demons in our midst don't have handy identifying tattoos, but they're doing just as much damage to our society as the Death Eaters. We let ourselves be divided by fear of our differences. We nearly lost this war because of our prejudiced stance on other races, like vampires, werewolves, giants and banshees. Our troubles aren't over because Tom Riddle's head exploded."


	2. Chapter 2

With that, he descended the dais and exited the large amphitheater. Dead silence hailed the end of his speech. He'd promised Hermione that he'd attend the party following the ceremony, but he desperately needed time alone first. Why had he gone off like that? No one was really listening. People were people, whether or not they could wave a magic wand. They didn't change. That's when he spotted Draco Malfoy skulking in the shadows of the anteroom.

"Potter," Draco said neutrally.

Harry grinned, still feeling rather sloshed. "Ah, Malfoy, semi-evil Defiler of Puppies and Christmas," he greeted. "I'm feeling marvelously disingenuous tonight, so it's lovely to see you."

Gray eyes widened fractionally. "Rather loose with the wine, were we?"

"Perpetually so." Harry sniffed the air for clues. "What brings you here to this fine establishment?"

Draco grimaced. "A clause in my acquittal. I'm expected to suck a little collective Ministry dick."

"Hmm, how typical," Harry commented. "Scrimgeour's got a sweet spot between his dick and his balls. Just lie back and think of England," he advised.

The ex-Slytherin looked rather bemused. "I'll remember that." After a pause, "Nice tirade."

"Heard that, did you?"

Draco nodded. "I do believe that's what the _Sonorus_ was for," he drawled. "I must say that's the most interesting victory speech I've ever witnessed. And Voldemort gave quite a few, I'll have you know."

"Well, it's good to know I got the last word, on many levels." Harry eyed Draco, who was dressed impeccably, as per usual. His silver-lined black robes were cut perfectly to fit his trim figure. "Seems a waste of such a smashing outfit to hide it in the shadows," he commented.

Draco returned the favor, gray eyes skimming Harry from head to toe, missing nothing. He was reminded of the article in the paper showing the Boy Who Lived fingerpainting in his dead parents' house. Draco doubted the rumors that his behavior was due to mourning. Harry's emerald eyes had a glow about them, and his face an expression of animated ease. The jeans fell low on his hips, and the dark shirt didn't quite meet his waistline when he moved, showing flashes of golden skin.

"Quite an interesting choice for a Wizarding ceremony in your honor," Draco observed.

Harry sighed. "I know. They wanted me to come looking like you, the epitome of youth, wealth, and power."

"You wouldn't be you if you dressed like me," Draco replied.

Harry swooned. "What _wit_! Such Slytherin cunning!" Draco glared, causing Harry to smirk. "I'll tell you what," he said. "When I want to know the meaning of life, I'll be sure to come straight to you for more pearls of wisdom."

"At least I don't look like a madman," Draco retorted. "And I don't go 'round spouting _truth_ at a Ministry do."

"You're right, of course." Harry sighed. "I've figured out why Dumbledore rattled off such random nonsense all the time."

"Why's that?"

"He couldn't stand to spout the Ministry's _party line_ nonsense, and it wouldn't help to tell the truth, so he resorted to nonsense in its purest, and most benign, form," Harry theorized.

"Cease and desist, Potter!" Draco ordered. "I'm experiencing wholly unwanted feelings of respect for the dodgy codger."

Harry laughed. "He was a manipulative old coot, there's no mistaking that," he conceded. "I just always saw him as the lesser of the dodgy codgers."

The sound of hundreds of witches and wizards rising from their seats and preparing to leave brought the duo back to the present. "Well, I must dash," Draco murmured.

"Will you be at the party?" Harry asked, hoping, rather bizarrely, that the answer was yes.

Draco nodded. "Unfortunately. Scrimgeour won't be satisfied until he's orchestrated my complete and utter humiliation. Snape's too."

"Mmm," Harry concurred. "He despises you both even more than I do."

Gray eyes sparkled with amusement. "And almost as much as he despises _you_," he added. "Well, I'll see you at the party, then. From opposite sides of the room, of course, as heroes and puppy defilers don't mix." He slipped out the door just as the loud crush of people began exiting the amphitheater.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry escaped into a side chamber that was spelled to admit Order members, and moved to stare out at the courtyard through the magical, one-way window. He knew he'd catch flak from his friends and family for his speech, but at least he'd escaped the masses until the party. Remus entered first, coming to stand beside him, and gracing him with a small smile.

"You did well, Cub," the werewolf murmured, and Harry instantly felt the weight lift from his shoulders. He valued Remus' opinion dearly, and if he had the last Marauder's support, he could weather any storm.

Harry smiled, and pulled the werewolf into a tight hug. After a long moment, Remus relaxed, relishing in the human contact, and silently thanking Merlin for gracing him with such a loving and generous Cub. He was personally glad that Harry had remained true to himself this evening, rather than kowtowing to the Ministry's demands. His Cub had been through so much and deserved to be who he really was, not whom the public demanded of him.

Before they could speak properly about it, Shacklebolt and Tonks entered the room together.

"Alright, Harry?" Kingsley asked. He'd developed dual feelings of protectiveness and respect for the young man during the war.

Harry smiled faintly. "Yes," he promised. "I'm not good with these events, as you've no doubt noticed." His smile faded. "I'm better at killing things."

The other three occupants of the room knew better than to contest this statement. Harry's role in the war was something they'd all been spared from, and they felt he deserved his time and space to come to terms with it.

"That was a Mad Hatter speech, Har," Tonks said with a grin. "Albus would've loved it." She paused. "Though he probably wouldn't have mixed so much gritty truth with his quirkiness."

Harry couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "That's me… gritty truth mixed with quirkiness."

"And we wouldn't have it any other way," Kingsley assured him gravely.

Remus placed a supportive hand on his back, and Harry smiled at him gratefully. Having both spent large periods of their lives without human contact, they accepted it more easily from each other than from others.

At that moment, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny appeared through the doorway. Harry instinctively stiffened, having seen their expressions during his speech. The twins followed them in, trying to trip each other up.

"Hi," Harry said tentatively, unintentionally mimicking the opening line of his speech. For a long moment no one spoke, so Fred broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Hey, mate!"

"Interesting speech," George added with a grin.

"Genius outfit." Fred took up the slack.

"Scrimgeour's piping mad!"

"And I think the kiddies'll have nightmares for months."

Harry gave them a grateful look, and said, "Well, I'm here all week. Half price on Sunday."

"Harry," Hermione interjected disapprovingly. "You shouldn't have said all that."

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, mate?" Ron demanded. "People adore you, they praise you, they think you're bloody Merlin reborn!"

"That's not my fault," Harry said quietly. "I never asked for any of this."

"Well, you got it!" Ron retorted. "You've got the world at your feet, and you act as though it's so tough being you!"

"Ron," Hermione tempered. "That's not what this is about."

The redhead snorted. "Bollocks!" He turned to Harry. "Being the Boy Who Lived is your destiny, mate. You admitted it yourself!"

Harry shook his head. "No, I admitted that my destiny was to fulfill the prophecy; to kill or be killed. I agreed to blow Tom Riddle's fucking head off. I didn't agree to be anyone's poster boy! It's not my fault that the Wizarding world wants to continue to delude itself by deifying a person that doesn't exist!"

"It's your responsibility to be their role model," Hermione said. "Not to show up at an event in your honor looking like a ragamuffin and spouting off nonsense!"

Harry suppressed his mirth, remembering his earlier conversation with Draco. "I wouldn't be me if I dressed like someone else," he pointed out.

"Speaking of which," Ron blustered. "You've got money coming out of your ears, mate, but you don't act like it! You live in a broken-down shack, acting like you've lost your marbles, and you don't even go to any of the parties in your honor. We had to drag you here!"

"Is that what this is about?" Remus intervened, looking affronted on his Cub's behalf. "The fact that Harry's not going to _parties_?"

"Yes!" Ron exclaimed. "He's the Boy Who Lived, he gets invited everywhere, but he doesn't even act like he appreciates it. It's always all about him. The war's over, but we can't go out and celebrate, because he's bloody depressed or something!"

"I'm not fit for this life!" Harry said pleadingly. "I'm sorry if you all want me to live it, but I can't." He paused, and then added. "I _won't_. I'm through being a puppet."

Hermione regarded him quietly. "Fine, Harry. I can understand that. But I still don't agree with your conduct tonight."

He nodded sadly. "I'm sorry that who I am disappoints you, 'Mione. I just can't seem to be anything but a freak."

"Well, I don't understand!" Ron said angrily. "What about the rest of us what've been here for you since day one! What about what _we_ need?"

Harry didn't bother trying to answer. Ginny kept sending him significant looks and it was distracting. She seemed more concerned about their relationship than his speech at the moment. When he'd broken up with her, he'd said (and felt) that he did it to keep her safe. But even then, to his own ears, that rang false. Everyone knew that the Weasleys were Harry's second family, so they were already targets. It just hadn't felt right being with Ginny, and Harry'd allowed himself to blame it on the war and his responsibilities.

Now that the war was over, and he'd 'saved the day', she was impatiently waiting for him to drop down on one knee and propose like a prince in a fairytale. They hadn't actually talked about it, since he'd been hiding out at Godric's Hollow, acting freakish, and they'd all assumed he was in mourning. He knew he was going to have to give her closure on their relationship. Something just felt inherently wrong about being with Ginny. He'd been so distracted sixth year that he'd unwisely let himself be pulled along in the wake of her conviction that they were meant for each other. Maybe it was because she felt more like a sister than a lover.

Or maybe it had something to do with the intractable urge he'd always felt to rip Malfoy's perfect, aristocratic clothes from his body and expose what lay beneath. He'd convinced himself in the past that this urge was born of his need to see Malfoy cowering and unkempt, at Harry's mercy. The trouble was, he didn't think his next move would be to hex the ex-Slytherin's arse from here to next week. No, his next move was more likely to involve his hands and Malfoy's pale skin.

Just then, the rest of the Weasley clan trouped in, accompanied by Moody. The ex-Auror immediately scanned the room for potential threats and escape routes before turning his attention to Harry. Molly looked disturbed and like she badly wanted to light into her adoptive son, but Arthur murmured sharply in her ear and held her back.

Moody looked at Harry, said, "_Constant Vigilance_," and then winked. Apparently his speech was to Alastor's liking, which shouldn't have surprised him given that he spent the better part of it talking about the enemy within.

McGonagall entered the room briskly, bringing all conversation to a halt. She eyed Harry shrewdly, but kept her peace. "It's time to go to the party," she informed them. Looking warily at her old student, she added, "The _Minister_ wants to announce your entrance." Her pinched expression clearly showed her displeasure.

"Is the monkey required to dance as well as clap?" Harry murmured bitterly.

Ron scowled at him.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry had a headache the size of Dudley's arse. In fact, Harry could say without question that he'd rather sing an ode to said arse than be in his present location: standing in the anteroom to the reception hall waiting for Scrimgeour to announce him. He felt like he was at a Muggle wedding. The only thing he was missing was a bride. Which was, of course, when Malfoy stepped out of the shadows to greet him for the second time that evening.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Draco drawled.

Harry's only response was to start humming.

Draco raised a brow. "What song is that?"

"Here Comes The Bride," Harry grumbled.

"Ah. Still drunk, then?" Draco surmised.

"Not really. I was just thinking how much this ridiculous affair is like a Muggle wedding reception, and that all I was missing was a bride, and suddenly there you were." He smirked, examining Draco carefully. "Do you feature tulle or white satin, Malfoy?"

"You really _have_ gone 'round the twist," the ex-Slytherin decided, eyeing him with awe. Pouting a bit, he added, "And I certainly wouldn't be the bride in this situation."

"Oh?" Harry smiled, giving Draco the once-over again. "You're certainly prettier than me, not to mention that you're a fashion whore and an absolute nutter about your hair."

"I am not!" Draco sputtered indignantly.

Harry took a step right into Draco's personal space. Emerald eyes locked with silvery-gray, and then he struck. Before Draco knew it, his hair had been thoroughly mussed.

"Eeeek!" he yelped manfully. "My hair!" He then proceeded to pull out a mirror and a comb, and put every last strand back in place.

"You're _definitely_ the bride," Harry concluded, and then a thought struck him. An evil, Slytherinish thought. "Hey, Bridezilla, would you like to walk down the aisle with me?"

Draco's sneer faded into confused trepidation. "What?"

"When Scrimgeour announces me, we go in together, arm in arm," Harry explained, grinning devilishly.

"He's not going to announce _me_, you twat," Draco pointed out.

Harry shook his head. "He'll have to. That's what makes it great. You said he's going to find a way to humiliate you. This way, we can make _him_ look like a chump." He paused. "Can you just imagine the expression on his face when his golden boy marches into the ballroom arm-in-arm with a well-known puppy defiler?"

Draco sighed. "Didn't we already have this conversation, Potter? The one where I explained why we'd spend the party on opposite sides of the room? You, surrounded by fans and groupies, and me skulking around the punch bowl with Snape?"

"Bollocks to that," Harry said decisively.

"Potter," Draco murmured, attempting to reason with him. "Heroes and antiheroes don't mix."

Harry's eyes darkened. "What about assassins and antiheroes? Can _they_ mix?" he snarled. "I won't let them make you feel like your sacrifice meant nothing."

Draco eyed him carefully, noting that their playful banter had turned quite serious. He'd become a spy after the death of Dumbledore, relying on Snape to guide and protect him. Somehow, they'd both come through it alive, but they were not liked or trusted by the Wizarding world. Most assumed they were double agents, selling secrets to _both_ sides to suit their goals. Harry had been a staunch defender, and was quite literally the only reason they hadn't been given a one-way ticket to Azkaban for the crimes they'd committed while acting as Death Eaters. It had been his last public act before dropping the Boy Who Lived façade and taking up fingerpainting.

"I don't know, Potter," he answered honestly. But when Scrimgeour's voice floated through the door, listing off the Seven Wonders of Harry Potter, Draco held out an arm for him to take. "Walk me down the aisle?"

Harry met his eyes, and the intensity of his emerald gaze was staggering. Then, with a playful grin, he looped his arm through Draco's and they stepped through the door. Their entrance was met by dead silence. Not the friendly, respectful, awed silence that Harry would've received by himself, but a wary, distrustful silence. Harry cast _Sonorus_ so that several hundred partygoers could hear his voice.

"Got room for another war hero?" he asked with deceptive levity. His dark gaze dared anyone to argue.

"Ah…" Scrimgeour stammered, forced to lock step. "With Harry tonight is Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and _spy_."

Harry glared at the less than glowing review. "It's like I said earlier. We wouldn't have won the war without our friendly, neighborhood vigilantes and our _loyal_ spies, such as Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape." Canceling the _Sonorus_, he turned his back on the Minister and led Draco further into the ballroom. Leaning in, he whispered, "Will this make things worse for you two?"

"No, Potter," Draco replied with an elegant snort. "You've single-handedly managed to save us from utter humiliation at the hands of that twat. Now that _you've_ openly spoken up for us, his hands are tied."

Snape eyed them from across the room and raised a brow.

"I don't think he agrees with you," Harry murmured.

Draco shook his head. "No, that's Snape-speak for 'thank you'."

"Ah." Harry grinned, causing onlookers to gasp in surprise at their Hero's ease with a wizard who was not only his childhood nemesis, but also a known Death Eater.


	5. Chapter 5

The duo approached the relative safety provided by Remus, Kingsley and Tonks.

"You're certainly dedicated to making a spectacle of yourself tonight, Har," Tonks greeted, changing her hair to silver and gold.

Draco found himself bristling on Potter's behalf until Harry squeezed his arm lightly to indicate that he wasn't offended.

"And you'd know quite a bit about making a spectacle of yourself, eh, Tonks?" he shot back with a chuckle. "Love the newest look, by the way. Very fitting."

"Ah, silver and gold," Draco noticed, lips twitching. "Any good grooming expert would tell you they're not to be mixed."

Harry winked at him. "Too late." Leaning in slightly, he murmured confidentially, "The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."

Only good breeding kept Draco from shouting out his surprise. "_What_?" he hissed. Then, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." A pause. "And it certainly explains the multiple personalities."

Harry elbowed him sharply.

"Hey!" Draco scolded. "How utterly uncouth. Your Gryffindor is showing."

Their audience of three laughed openly at the duo's comfortable bickering. "This is a surprise," Remus said quietly.

"Not to _you_, Lupin," Kingsley muttered. "You're the one that stands to win the bet." Tonks nodded her agreement.

"What?" Harry demanded. "What bet?"

They looked properly chastened. "You see," Kingsley began tentatively. "Everyone in the Order has a bet going about how long it'll take before the two of you can stand in the same room without wanting to hex each other. Aside from Remus, the earliest bet is five years from the end of the war."

Horrified, Harry turned to Remus. "What'd you bet?"

"Six months."

"The war ended three months ago," Draco pointed out.

Kingsley nodded. "Yes, and here you are, not only acting civil, but seemingly enjoying each other's company."

Harry growled. "Well, I'm so sorry we turned out to be bigger people than you expected."

"Harry," Remus protested. "It wasn't like that; it's all in fun."

At Harry's downcast face, Draco glared wrathfully at the trio. "You were supposed to be the ones he could count on tonight," he hissed.

"I need a drink," Harry murmured, and Draco let himself be led to the refreshment table. There were several different selections, both alcoholic and nonalcoholic. Harry went straight for the Firewhisky and poured two shots. Handing one to Draco, he raised his in a toast. "To the assassin and the antihero," he muttered. They clinked glasses and simultaneously downed the burning liquid.

"I can't believe I'm drinking something as plebian as Firewhisky," Draco complained. "My ancestors are turning over in their graves."

Harry poured them each another shot. "That's fucking _fascinating_, Malfoy, really, but…" He waved the glass tantalizingly back and forth in front of Draco's eyes until the ex-Slytherin sniffed haughtily and took it.

"Are you trying to get me sloshed and take advantage, Potter?" Gray eyes met green in challenge.

"_Hell yes_," Harry exclaimed breathily, and then burst out laughing.

Draco smirked, letting his gaze pass heatedly over Harry's body. "Well, now that we've got _that_ sorted, let's go visit with Severus, shall we?" He indicated the dark corner where Snape had hidden himself to glower freely at the proceedings. "He looks rather lonely."

Harry snorted and agreed. "Sadly, there's no one in this room I'd rather see." He grabbed the bottle of Firewhisky and a third shot glass, studiously ignoring Draco's censorious expression at his uncivilized behavior. They knew all eyes were on them as they approached the Potions master, but the heady burn of alcohol helped the significance fade into the background.

Snape watched them with a raised brow as they plopped themselves down at his table. "Lord Potter, Lord Malfoy," he sneered witheringly.

"Sev," Harry greeted equably, causing Snape's eyes to narrow dangerously.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," he drawled. "Couldn't resist playing hero tonight, could you?"

Draco interjected, "He prefers _assassin_, Sev."

"Regardless," Snape replied smoothly, "I wasn't aware that I resembled a damsel in distress."

Harry looked at Draco. "Is this still his way of saying thanks?"

"Actually, no. This is his way of saying, 'I'm embarrassed as hell so I'm going to blame the nearest Potter.'"

"Ah." Looking at Snape seriously, Harry murmured, "Would it make you feel better if you were to spank me?"

Snape blanched. "What?"

"Well, I'm a naughty student. I deserve to be _punished_." Harry winked lecherously.

"Mr. Malfoy, an explanation if you would?" Snape demanded.

Draco chuckled. "I'd like to say it's the Firewhisky, but somehow I doubt it."

Harry plunked down the three shot glasses and filled them. Using his fingers to push the glasses in front of his companions, he murmured, "_Bottoms up_, boys," and then leered at them both.

"Merlin, Potter, what's gotten into you?" Draco wondered, nevertheless plucking up his glass. Snape reluctantly followed suit, and they downed the shots.

"I'm possessed," Harry replied flippantly, fingering his shell necklace.

Draco considered his erstwhile nemesis for a long moment. "I like the necklace, Potter." A pause. "It's perfectly _you_."

Green eyes burned into gray. "Oh, we _definitely_ need to have sex," Harry said huskily.

Draco's entire body burst into flames at his words. Desperately recovering his inner cool, and ignoring the fact that Harry could bring him off by words alone, he drawled, "And the _Gryffindor golden boy_ thinks he's capable of showing me a good time?"

Harry leaned forward, and was about to answer, when Ginny Weasley approached their table with a defiant expression on her face.


	6. Chapter 6

"Harry," she greeted, ignoring Severus and Draco. "We need to talk."

He stood reluctantly, eying his companions. Draco's stormy gray eyes pinned him momentarily, promising worlds, and then turned away. "Sure," Harry said weakly, following her away from the table.

"Dance?" she suggested, grabbing his arms and making it mandatory. He fell uneasily into the steps of a slow song, and she wound her arms around his neck possessively. "I've missed you," she murmured.

"Ginny…" he began, but she cut him off.

Dark brown eyes boring into his, she said, "The war is over, Harry. We can be together now; there's nothing standing in our way."

Harry felt badly. He should've been more honest with her sooner, but he'd been so fully immersed in the war that he hadn't taken any time for self-reflection.

Assured that she was getting what she wanted, Ginny changed directions suddenly, "What were you doing with _them_, anyway? And what was with that grand entrance you made with Malfoy?"

Harry bristled at her tone. "I'm not going to let the Wizarding world brush off their pivotal contributions to the war just because the things they had to do weren't pretty."

"Harry," she chided. "They're both Death Eaters. Even as so-called spies, they did awful things. You can't go back from that. And no one really knows what side they were on."

"And what about me?" he demanded grittily. "Do I deserve to go to Azkaban because I blew out the back of Tom Riddle's head?"

"What?" she asked, startled. "Of course not! You're Harry Potter, the hero. You saved us."

He glared. "So, because of who I am, I can get away with murder?"

"Harry, that's not what I'm saying."

"Oh?" he questioned archly. "Everyone has this fantastic double standard about the war. I could've cast _Crucio_ on a hundred Death Eaters, and most of the Wizarding world would applaud me for it. But, for Snape and Malfoy, whose information led directly to us winning the war, the same doesn't apply. They were forced to act the part of Death Eaters to get that information, but we vilify them. _They_ deserve Orders of Merlin, First Class, not me."

Ginny sighed. "Look, Harry, I know you're in mourning right now, and it's affecting your behavior. But, I hope you come back to yourself soon."

"I'm not in mourning!" Harry snapped, causing the people within earshot to turn and stare. "That's not what my strange behavior is about!" He tried desperately to explain. "It's about coming back to myself. Not Harry the hero, just Harry."

Ginny ignored his words. "Look, Harry, let's not argue. This is supposed to be a happy reunion for us." She ran her fingers into his hair and he flinched.

"Can we go somewhere else and talk?" he pleaded.

She shook her head. "No, we can talk here. I don't want to let you go, and I want everyone to see that you're mine." She smiled triumphantly.

"Please, Ginny?"

She giggled. "Nope. Just say whatever it is you need to say so we can spend the rest of the night in each other's arms."

Harry flat out refused to do this in public. Stepping away and placing a gentle hand on her elbow, he began to lead her firmly from the ballroom. "We need to talk first, and I won't do it in front of these vultures."

"I know you don't like dancing, Harry, but you're going to have to get used to it," Ginny pointed out. "You're the guest of honor at every celebration party, and now that the Wizarding world is getting back on its feet, we'll be going out a lot."

Harry sighed, saying nothing until they'd left the ballroom and entered the room spelled specially for the Order. Moving away from Ginny, he ran his hands through his hair, searching for courage. "I don't mean the dancing. I mean this, _us_." He paused, trying to figure out the most delicate way to proceed. "I don't feel the same way I did before the war."

Ginny furrowed a brow and took a step closer. "Of course you don't, Harry. You went through a horrible experience. But, don't let that get between us. I'm not in any danger by being with you now."

Harry hesitated. "This isn't about the war anymore."

Suddenly afraid, Ginny asked, "What're you on about?"

"The fact is," Harry said softly, "my feelings for you are brotherly, Ginny. It's possible that I've always felt that way, but I was too focused on the war to see it."

"_What_?" she screeched. This certainly wasn't how she'd imagined the reunion of the Prince and his Princess.

Harry took a deep breath. "I don't want us to get back together, Ginny. It doesn't feel right."

Her eyes grew wide. "What are you saying?" she gasped.

"I think I just said it," he pointed out gently.

Her eyes narrowed. "This isn't possible, Harry. Everything was perfect before we broke up, and that was for my safety."

"Things weren't perfect," he disagreed. "You were convinced that we're meant to be, and I _do_ love you, so I assumed it was right. But I don't love you the way I'm meant to."

Ginny looked horrified. "You can't mean that! We're in love!"

"I'm not." It was said simply, two devastating words.

She ran a distressed hand over the bodice of her dress. "I… I can't believe it!" Then, she turned rabid. "I can't believe you told me this _here_ where hundreds of people are waiting for us to joyfully reunite!"

Harry stared, stupefied. "Why do you care about what they think? You seemed perfectly happy to have them all staring at us while we were dancing!"

"Well I didn't know you were going to break up with me!" she shrieked. "I didn't know you'd gone completely bloody insane!" She gasped in a breath. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Harry, but no one appreciates your little act! Living in the dregs of your dead parents' house, while you fingerpaint the walls and make necklaces out of shells? No one buys it! You have responsibilities! You're supposed to marry me, and take your place in Wizarding society. When you're done with your little teenage rebellion, you let me know!"

With that, she flounced out of the room, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

When Ginny led Harry onto the dance floor by the hand, Draco gritted his teeth. Snape caught him out and smirked.

"Imagine my surprise," he said silkily, "when Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts most infamous rivals, entered the ballroom _together_ and getting on just dandily. In front of hundreds of avidly watching witches and wizards, no less."

Draco scowled. "Your point, _Professor_?"

"My point is that Potter certainly likes to put on a show."

"He doesn't do it for the attention," Draco defended. "He did it to save us from Scrimgeour's humiliation."

Snape nodded curtly. "Though I'm loath to admit it, I found myself _pleased_ to be approached by the two of you. I'd expected to spend the torturous evening on my own, an exhibit for their greedy eyes. Potter certainly knows how to turn a being a spectacle to one's favor."

"Yes." Draco sighed. "He does." His eyes followed Harry to where he was dancing awkwardly with Ginny, in the middle of what seemed to be an argument.

"Watch yourself, Mr. Malfoy," Snape advised. "You're displaying rather obvious signs of jealousy."

Draco instantly snapped his eyes away from Harry and glared at Snape. "A Malfoy shows no such weaknesses."

"You never were a very good Malfoy," Snape observed.

"_What_?" Draco demanded dangerously.

Snape sneered. "It was rather a compliment. What I meant to express is that you don't know Potter's intentions. He could be using you."

Draco suppressed the urge to leap to his feet and start shouting. "He is _not_ using me," he uttered lowly. "In fact, it's one of Potter's weaknesses that he allows himself to be used."

Snape eyed him warily. "Are you taking advantage of this fact?"

Unable to cover his surprise at Snape's veiled protectiveness of his most detested student, Draco chuckled. "No," he murmured. "I am not."

At that point, Harry began to lead Ginny off the dance floor, looking like a fox cornered by Lumos. Draco waited anxiously to see what would happen. When the redhead flounced back into the ballroom ten minutes later, alone, he stood uncertainly, wondering whether he should go after Harry. All eyes were all on the Gryffindor Princess as she made a beeline for her family and began sobbing loudly. When the Boy Who Lived entered several minutes later, the Girl Who Was Scorned's brother immediately stormed towards him.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron demanded.

Harry winced, looking contrite. "I didn't mean to hurt her," he murmured, pitching his voice too low for their audience to hear. Ron didn't do the same.

"What the fuck did you do?" Ron's face was turning progressively redder, a shade that clashed horribly with his brown freckles.

"I told her that I'm not in love with her," Harry said softly.

"_What_?" Ron bellowed.

Harry sighed. "Can we please discuss this somewhere else?" he pleaded.

"No! If you broke my sister's heart, you deserve to be publicly humiliated!" Ron retorted.

Nodding, Harry said, "You're right. But it would've hurt her more if I'd pretended to feel something I don't. I didn't want to discuss this with her tonight, but she insisted on acting like we were together."

"I don't know what happened to you, mate, but you've been acting like a right prick ever since the war ended!" Ron exclaimed. "I've been your fucking sidekick for years, but do you appreciate that? No! You decide you just want to give up your responsibilities, fuck over my little sister, hang out with _Death Eaters_ at a celebration in your honor, and live your own twisted little existence!"

"Ron…" He got a fist in the face for an answer. From his new position on the floor, Harry looked sadly up at Ron. "I'm sorry, mate." Standing stiffly, and refusing to touch his busted lip, he returned to his table. Snape lounged languidly in his seat while Draco stood anxiously, waiting.

"Just sit," he murmured to Draco. Plopping down next to him, he added, "Fuck, I need a drink." Surprisingly, it was Snape that poured the trio their next round.

"To assassins and antiheroes," he intoned. Once they'd finished, tongue loosened by Firewhisky, he added, "I'm rather impressed, Potter."

"Oh?"

Snape sneered charmingly. "Mr. Malfoy and myself are free to be as peculiar as we please, as it's expected of us. You, yourself, are moving against the current." A pause. "Making quite a splash of it, too."

Harry flinched. "I didn't mean to. She wanted to make tonight our public reunion as a couple, and Ron just wanted to humiliate me." He sighed weightily.

"Mmm," Snape allowed.

Draco tentatively reached out to wipe away a bit of blood from Harry's lip. "Going to make it, Potter?" he drawled to cover his gentle behavior.

Harry's eyes turned dark. "I've had worse. Old Voldie had a great left hook."

"Yes," Draco agreed, "But, as far as I know, you and His Evilness didn't play chess and defend puppies together."

There was silence. "Have I mentioned how _interesting_ I found your speech, Potter?" Snape murmured, ignoring a quelling look from Draco. "There's something I'd like to know."

Harry sighed resignedly. "What is it?"

"Did you really stomp on the Dark Lord's eyeball?"

Harry stared at his former Potions professor for a long, shocked moment, and then burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he fell out of his chair in a sloshed, ungainly heap. Tipping his head back to meet Snape's dark eyes, he said, "Why yes, I did."

Draco watched Harry laughing joyfully on the floor of the ballroom and couldn't hold back his smile. When, precisely, had he turned into such a bloody Hufflepuff sap? Reaching out a hand, he felt an electric shock race up and down his arm when their palms met.

Harry's eyes turned instantly solemn, feeling a warm tingle spread through his entire body. Letting Draco pull him up, he whispered huskily, "Thanks." For a protracted moment, their palms stayed in contact, fingers tangling together intimately.

Draco sucked in a deep breath and withdrew his hand grudgingly. "Sure," he stuttered.

Watching his companions with vast amusement, Snape commented, "This whole affair has turned out much more entertaining than I thought." With a sideways glance at Harry, he added, "Not as entertaining as stomping on eyeballs, mind you."

Harry snickered. Glancing around, he noted with distaste that all eyes were upon them. "This is so fucked," he muttered. "And they wonder why I want nothing to do with this shite. I'd rather sing an ode to Dudley's fat arse."

Draco pouted with mock jealousy.

"You'd like me to sing an ode to _your _fat arse?" Harry asked.

The ex-Slytherin glared balefully at him. "Of all the…" His face turned haughty. "I'll have you know, Potter, that my arse is smooth, muscular, and perfectly sized."

"Would you like me to use those exact words in my ode or can I paraphrase?"

"Potter!" he complained petulantly.

Harry waved his hands in submission. "Alright, alright. Oh Malfoy, Malfoy," he droned in monotone. "Your arse is so sublime. It's as smooth as a buttered roll, and tastes like…"

"_Potter_!" Draco snarled. "Don't make me add to your face art."

"But Dray," Harry whined, "I've thought of so many _better _things to do with our hands."

Smirking, Draco reached out and playfully ran his fingers down Harry's forearm. "Like this?"

Harry reflexively licked his lips. What was it about Draco that made his blood boil at a mere touch? "Yeah, like that." Their eyes met.

Snape's silky voice was like a bucket of cold water. "If you two are planning to fornicate on the table, I'd like fair warning so I can take my leave."

They each returned to their own personal space, watching the goings on of the ballroom. Most of the partygoers had resumed dancing and talking. There was a table full of Weasleys staring at them, however.


	8. Chapter 8

Remus approached the trio. "May I sit?" he requested politely.

Harry nodded, and waved a hand to pull up another chair.

Draco glared. "Showoff."

Harry stuck out his tongue and turned to Remus, not noticing Draco's hungry stare. "Shot?" he offered.

Remus took in the three shot glasses and the half empty bottle of Firewhisky. "No thanks," he demurred. "When I drink, I tend to get a little… wolf-y."

"Do you start eating people?" Harry wondered.

The werewolf stared at him, startled by his question. "_No_."

"Do you enjoy it?"

Remus sighed. "I used to drink with Sirius," he confided. "It was always fun, but never something I'd do in public."

Harry eyed him shrewdly. "Why not?"

"Because my eyes glow, my fangs elongate, and I get rather overly-confident. I say whatever comes into my head, and my libido jumps through the roof," Remus defended.

Chuckling, Harry murmured, "Sounds like fun to _me_."

"Not for public consumption, however," Remus pointed out.

Harry sighed. "Rem, those arseholes already judge you, they already fear you, and they already keep you as far from their precious kiddies as possible. How will this possibly make it worse?"

Remus thought about it. Harry was right. He'd been shunned his whole life, had in fact been shunned just as much as Severus and Draco despite his efforts during the war. He'd thought that after he brought most of the werewolves away from the Dark Lord's side, he, and they, would gain more respect from the Wizarding world. They hadn't. Apparently werewolves made great cannon fodder, but not next-door neighbors or lovers or employees. Why was he kowtowing to their needs, especially after being so pleased that Harry had chosen not to?

"Nothing can make it worse," he concluded.

Harry smiled, patting Remus' hand in comfort. Draco growled slightly, causing the werewolf to blink in surprise. "You've come to the right place," Harry said. "Two antiheroes, an assassin, and a werewolf." Wandlessly Summoning another shot glass, he motioned to Snape to fill them up.

The Potions master raised a brow. "You can wandlessly Summon a shot glass, but you can't fill them?"

Harry looked chagrined. "My hands are a bit shaky." His companions laughed.

"Oh Cub," Remus murmured, noticing with amusement that Draco relaxed considerably at his words. "Have you forgiven me for taking part in the bet?"

"Ah, the bet," Snape said, seeing the puzzle pieces fall into place.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me," he muttered. "You too?"

"Mmm."

"What did you bet?" Draco asked curiously.

Snape eyed them both. "My money was on _never_."

Harry, to their astonishment, chuckled. "I'm so happy to have surprised you yet again, _Severus_."

"What?" Remus questioned, looking rather petulant. "It's alright for _him_ to place bets on your character, but not for the rest of us?"

Harry grinned. "But I expect it from Sev," he explained. "He's so delightfully predictable."

Snape glowered at him. "I'll have you know, _Potter,_" he sneered. Then he paused thoughtfully. "Oh, all right. I suppose when it comes to you, I _am_ a bit predictable."

Harry jumped from his seat, did a little twirl, and then leaned forward to pull the stunned Potions master into a brief hug. Returning to his place, he looked at Remus and Draco and swooned. "He _does_ love me!"

"Potter," Snape growled. "_Harry_. Do shut up."

Remus chuckled. "So, Cub, am I forgiven?"

Harry leaned his head on the werewolf's shoulder. "Of course. I'm a bit touchy today."

"Also a bit sloshed," Draco added.

"Malfoy, don't help," Harry snarked.

The ex-Slytherin pouted. "What, you can call everyone _else_ by their first name now, but not me?"

"Draco," Harry purred. "Draaaaaaco."

Draco shivered. "Right then, Harry. Let's have our shots, shall we?"

"Oh?" Harry murmured. "I thought Firewhisky was plebian. Something about ancestors rolling in their graves?"

Draco smirked. "In comparison with fraternizing with a werewolf and a Potter, I think drinking Firewhisky is the lesser of my sins against Malfoydom."

"Point," Harry conceded.

The four men touched glasses and then downed the fiery liquid, Harry and Draco naturally competing and doing their best not to choke. The ex-Slytherin coughed lightly and Harry grinned.

"I win."

"Does everything between us have to be a competition, Harry?" Draco demanded.

"Yes," Harry replied. "Especially when I win. Which is quite often."

Draco sneered. "You gloating little _hero_."

Green eyes met gray in shock. "I can't believe you just called me that, you puppy defiler!" He put a hand on Draco's chest, ready to topple the other wizard off his chair. Draco watched him defiantly, as though daring him to do it. They stared, locked in place, and Harry couldn't help but imagine what Draco's bare skin would feel like beneath his hand.

"Is it just me, or are those two about to shag each other's brains out?" Remus drawled.

All movement stopped as the other three turned to stare at the unassuming werewolf, shocked by his bold words.

"Firewhisky, meet werewolf," Remus smirked, amused by their slackjawed expressions.

Harry immediately refilled Remus' glass. "Quick, let's give him more!"

Remus downed the shot, and his amber eyes began to glow slightly. His companions watched him with avid fascination. "Oh, right, everyone stare at the _werewolf_," he muttered. "Just remember, the three of you are just as freakish as I am!"

"Noted," Snape said solemnly.


	9. Chapter 9

Remus' eyes took on a calculating expression. Turning to Harry and Draco, he said, "I will not be the only one making a spectacle of myself."

"Have we not already done enough?" Snape inquired archly.

Harry directed their attention to the clan of angry Weasleys. "I've _certainly_ done enough."

"I was the bride," Draco added, looking traumatized.

Remus and Severus were one in their exclamation of, "_What_?"

The ex-Slytherin recounted the events leading up to his and Harry's grand entrance to the ballroom.

The werewolf took another shot and his grin was feral, fang teeth gleaming. "Well, if you are the bride and the groom, why have I not yet seen you dance?"

Snape sneered. "Though it pains me to admit it, I must agree with Lupin. I would see you dance."

"Are the pair of you mad?" Draco demanded.

Harry shook his head sadly. "We never should've given them Firewhisky," he mused, watching their former professors rather amiably debate who would lead.

"Pardon _me_," Draco interjected, "but that's rather obvious! I would lead."

"Lead, my arse!" Harry exclaimed. "You couldn't lead using _Point Me_ and a guide!"

Draco sneered. "Oh please, Harry, this isn't about gunning down megalomaniacs! This is about _dancing_. Which I know for a fact that you're pants at."

They both rose and stood eye to eye in challenge. "I'm the groom, Draco. The groom leads the bride."

"Not _this_ bride!" the ex-Slytherin snarled.

Remus and Severus exchanged bemused and victorious looks. "Well, let's see it then," the werewolf prompted.

Two heads turned in unison to face him, platinum and raven strands touching. "What?"

"Off with you," Snape ordered, gesturing to the dance floor.

"Fine!" Harry snapped. "You want a spectacle? We'll give you a fucking spectacle!" Grabbing Draco's hand, he dragged him along behind him.

"Um, Harry?" Draco asked as they came to a stop several yards from their table. A low murmur passed through the ballroom, and all eyes watched to see what would happen next. "We didn't exactly decide who was going to lead."

Harry considered. "Since you had to be the bride, and you actually know how to dance, you lead." He stood stiffly and uncomfortably in front of Draco, suddenly feeling the full significance of what they were doing. "I _really_ can't dance," he whispered.

Draco nodded briskly. "Not to worry, Harry." He held out his right hand and gestured for Harry to take it. Their palms met and their fingers curled naturally together. Draco grabbed Harry's left hand and placed it on his shoulder before placing his own on Harry's hip. Tugging the raven-haired wizard gently towards him, he aligned their bodies. "Ready?"

Harry gulped, feeling the slow burn where their palms met spreading out to meet the place where Draco's hand rested on his hip. He watched the ex-Slytherin's stormy eyes grow darker and he shivered. "I suppose," he murmured.

Sensing his hesitation, Draco said, "Just follow my lead, it'll be easy." Harry's green eyes burned into his own with a sense of trust that shook Draco to the core. Squeezing Harry's hand lightly, he began to twirl them through the opening steps. The raven-haired wizard stumbled a bit, struggling.

"Sorry," he said contritely.

"Harry, relax," Draco chided. "We're making a spectacle of ourselves remember? Not winning a dance competition."

Harry smiled. "Right, then. Lead on." He let his muscles slowly unclench.

"Keep your eyes on mine," Draco instructed, "and don't over-think it." He started to move again, using his hands to give Harry cues.

Harry watched Draco's eyes and ignored the rest of the world. It was surprisingly easy. His body followed Draco's instinctively, and soon they were _dancing_. It didn't matter that hundreds of wizards and witches were watching, taking photos, judging. What mattered was the ex-Slytherin's slim form against his, and all the places where their bodies came in contact. He was suddenly struck by the realization that Draco would soon notice _just_ _how much_ Harry was enjoying this.

"Incidentally, I think I'm gay," he whispered huskily.

Draco grinned. "That's _fascinating_, Harry, really, but," he pulled their pelvises flush and dragged his hand slowly over Harry's hip.

Harry groaned and leaned his head against Draco's shoulder before whispering in his ear, "Do you think we're making enough of a spectacle for Remus and Sev?"

Draco shivered, burying his nose briefly in Harry's hair. He smelled like the air during an electrical storm and something uniquely Harry. Turning his head, he saw two highly amused wizards sipping Firewhisky and watching the show. "Hard to tell, maybe we should keep dancing."

"Right," Harry stammered, feeling slightly dizzy as Draco kept twirling them in a complicated pattern across the floor. They were pressed together, chest to chest, hips to hips, and Draco's hot breath whispered across his neck.

Feeling the telltale bulge in Harry's jeans, Draco shifted so that their erections were touching through their clothes. The raven-haired wizard moaned and canted his hips forward instinctively, sending Draco's head spinning. "_Oh Merlin_," he gasped, pressing back in retaliation.

Harry's left hand had migrated from Draco's shoulder to the back of his neck, tangling in the soft hair there. "Draco," he hissed out, and then swore in Parseltongue.

Draco melted, forgetting to dance, forgetting to lead, completely undone by the sibilant hissing. "Fuck," he murmured, letting his lips trail over Harry's neck, tongue slipping out to meet his clavicle.

"_Sssssssssthaiiiiiii_," Harry whispered, emerald eyes locking with silvery-gray.

Mesmerized, Draco leaned in, wanting nothing more than to swallow the hissing coming from Harry's lips and feel it inside him. "_Harry_," he moaned wantonly, and then, losing all semblance of propriety and control, he ran his tongue over Harry's busted bottom lip and bit it slightly.

Harry gasped in Parseltongue inside Draco's mouth, and felt the shudder pulse through the other wizard's body. He felt a heady rush of power over driving such a poised person as Draco to utter distraction. Then he felt Draco's tongue in his mouth, nursing his abused lip and he melted right along with him. Pulling frantically at the hem of Draco's robes, he hissed, "I need to see you. All of you."

"Yes," Draco gasped. "Yes, now. Fuck." He dropped all pretence of dancing and ran his hands up under the back of Harry's shirt, digging into the soft skin there.

Harry's hands were in his hair, on his chest, running down his torso. "We need to get the fuck out of here."

"Yes. Where?" Draco ground his hips into Harry's, relishing in the low moan it elicited.

Harry bit down on Draco's neck. "Sssssssssss. Your place?" he offered, knowing that Draco wouldn't be caught dead in Harry's ramshackle house.

Draco paused, pulling back slightly, and meeting Harry's eyes. "No," he said firmly. "Take me to _your_ home."

Harry fell a little bit in love. Then, he smiled brilliantly and Draco fell with him. He wrapped his hands tightly around Draco's torso and with a pop they disappeared from the dance floor.


	10. Chapter 10

"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen," Remus murmured on a low growl.

"Oh?" Severus replied. "I believe I've seen better." His eyes traveled hungrily over Remus' slightly wolfed out appearance.

Remus blanched. "What? How? I would've thought you'd be disgusted by this." He waved a hand over himself. "You've always evinced such utter distaste for my condition."

Severus smirked. "Yes, well I have a tendency to belittle the things that make me the most uncomfortable." Made bold by the scene they'd just witnessed and the Firewhisky, he added, "Such as my attraction for you."

Amber eyes grew heated as they traveled over the Potions master's form. "Perhaps we should take a page from our young charges' book and disappear."

Severus nodded. "Without the show, naturally."

As one, they rose and exited the ballroom, leaving a bevy of confused wizards and witches in their wake.

They landed in a dark entryway, and Draco had little time to look around as his body was slammed unceremoniously into the door behind him. Harry leaned in, aligning their bodies perfectly, drawing a groan from Draco's lips. Reaching up, he ran both hands into Harry's raven hair and pulled him in until their mouths met in a searing kiss, tongues battling for dominance.

Harry's head was swimming. All he could feel was Draco, his body and his hot, wet tongue. He hissed with pleasure when Draco arched into him desperately. "Sssssssss," he whispered.

"Fuck, Harry. _Fuck_," Draco gasped out running his hands down Harry's spine and under his shirt.

Harry shuddered at the skin-on-skin contact and pulled away slightly, grabbing Draco's hand. "Let's…" He waved a hand ineffectually towards the interior of the house.

"Yes," Draco murmured, voice low and gravelly. He gently bit an earlobe. "I want you naked and writhing in pleasure."

Harry's entire body went up in flames. They made it approximately three steps to just inside the doorway near the base of the stairs. Losing all semblance of control, Harry shoved Draco against the wall and looked into stormy gray eyes, asking for permission. "There's something I've _ached_ to do for years," he hissed.

Draco trembled. "Anything, Harry."

The raven-haired wizard growled, and with a series of satisfying rips, left his lover in nothing but his undergarments. Staring hungrily at the body before him, he gasped, "Oh _fuck_, Draco. You're so bloody hot."

Draco took advantage of Harry's near incapacitation to reach out and tear his shirt off. Then, he hooked a leg behind Harry's knee and sent them tumbling to the ground. A brief tussle for dominance left Draco on top, and he leaned down immediately to claim Harry's lips. Harry twined their tongues together and arched his body up into Draco's eagerly.

"Clothes," Draco gasped. "Fuck. Less clothes." His hands fumbled with the button on Harry's jeans, and then shoved them frantically down his body. Harry helped by kicking them away with his feet. When their hips ground together, the only separation was a silky cloth barrier.

"Ssssthhhhhh," Harry hissed. "What… why…" He raked his nails down Draco's spine.

Draco shuddered. "I know." He understood perfectly. "Seven years of school." He paused to gasp as Harry ripped away the last of the cloth separating them. "Three years of war." He cried out as Harry brought their hips together, cocks finally meeting. "Oh, _fuck_!"

"Yessssssss." The raven-haired wizard dug his fingers into Draco's arse. "Why didn't we do this sooner?"

Draco kissed him desperately. "Sooner." Harry kissed back, and they both got lost in the glow of sweat-slicked bodies moving together frantically.

Caught up and overwhelmed in sensations he'd never imagined he could feel, Harry drew his lips down Draco's throat and neck. When he reached the soft flesh there he bit down sharply, causing Draco to cry out in pain and pleasure. "_Mine_," he hissed.

Draco retaliated by biting Harry's swollen lip, still bruised from Ron's blow, until he drew blood. Then, he soothed it gently with his tongue. "_Mine_," he echoed huskily. He reached down and took both of their leaking cocks in his hand, jerking them off in unison.

"_Oh_," Harry whimpered, driving his tongue desperately into Draco's mouth, mimicking the movements of his cock in Draco's hand. He placed a hand over Draco's, helping, and the ex-Slytherin gasped at the touch. Working together, they neared completion.

Draco groaned, the feeling of their cocks rubbing together too much to take. "Fuck, Harry, I'm gonna…"

"Come," Harry hissed, bucking upwards sharply and ejaculating over their joined hands. Draco quickly followed suit. They kissed deeply, memorizing the landscape of each other's mouths. Pulling apart, Harry looked down at the mess they'd made between them. Reaching out tentatively, he swiped a bit of their mixed come and then sucked it from his finger. "Not bad," he commented.

"Fuck, that is so hot," Draco whispered, cock twitching.

Harry raised a brow and smirked at his lover. Then, waving his hand to clean them, he stood and pulled Draco up with him. "Do you trust me?"

Silvery-gray eyes met green solemnly. "Yes, I do."


	11. Chapter 11

Harry nodded, and led the ex-Slytherin up the stairs of the dark, broken house. As they moved through the upstairs hallway, Draco saw a room with a shattered cradle and scorch marks on the cracked walls. The windows had long ago blown out. Finally, they reached a room alit with fairy lights. There was a bed made up with deep purple sheets and a comforter lined with silver trim. The walls were covered with swirling patterns of glowing paint.

Harry eyed him with considerable trepidation, so Draco said, "It's stunning." He meant it. There was such a strange juxtaposition of destruction and raw beauty here. It was a perfect reflection of Harry. The raven-haired wizard smiled brilliantly, and something in Draco's heart melted.

Watching Draco carefully, Harry nudged him gently towards the bed. Draco sprawled obligingly out on his back, pale skin exquisite against the deep purple bedding. "Do you trust me?" Harry asked again.

Draco met his eyes, expression open and unquestioning. "Yes."

Waving a hand to Summon a palette of glowing paints, Harry crawled onto the bed and settled himself next to Draco's prone body. "Can I…"

The strange quality of the room and of Harry himself was heady. Draco arched his body up slightly, needing. "Anything, Harry. Anything."

Harry smiled solemnly and dipped his fingers into the paints. "They're magical," he whispered to explain their warm and glowing nature. He paused. "Also nontoxic."

Draco chuckled. "And people think you're _crazy_ for using fingerpaints."

"Shh…" Harry whispered against his skin. "Just close your eyes and relax." Draco complied, and Harry began to paint patterns onto his skin, mapping out every inch of flesh. He couldn't believe Draco was here, with him, no judgment or censure. Just lots of lust, and maybe a little bit of love. He let the magic overtake him, his fingers following the demands of the paint like a planchette, in direct connection with Draco's spirit.

Draco moaned softly at the exquisite feeling of Harry's fingers trailing over his skin, leaving behind warm, tingling swirls of sensation. When Harry began to whisper soothingly in Parseltongue, Draco came undone. The glowing fairy lights twinkled through his closed eyelids, and it seemed as though his body had left the bed and was floating weightlessly somewhere near the ceiling. The magical paint made Harry's hands an extension of Draco's own body. He burned, with a gentle but all-encompassing need.

"Harry," he whispered, and the word seemed to go directly from his mind to Harry's. "I need…"

Seeming to understand, Harry murmured, "Open your eyes."

Draco obeyed, and gasped out loud. "Oh Merlin, it's beautiful." His voice was soft and full of awe. His body was covered with swirling patterns of paint that somehow seemed to spell out the secrets of his psyche. Harry nudged him up to a sitting position, and then took his place, watching him expectantly. Draco hesitated. "How do I…"

"Magic," Harry said lightly. "Just dip your fingers in, and you'll know." Fully trusting, he closed his eyes and let his limbs go slack.

Draco watched him in wonder for a long moment, tracing over the perfect contours of Harry's form. Then he plunged his fingers into the paints. As soon as he placed them on Harry's torso, they began to move of their own accord. Draco could only marvel as his hands danced across his lover's skin, and Harry sighed in utter contentment. The paint was merely a conduit; it was someplace deep inside Harry that was directing his hands. When Harry's body arched upward with need, Draco knew he was done. Following his instincts, he lowered his body over Harry's, flesh to flesh.

Harry's eyes snapped open. "Ssssssthhhaiiii," he swore sibilantly, rubbing his body wantonly against Draco's. Their mouths met in a searing tangle of tongues.

Draco groaned helplessly, overwhelmed, and pulled Harry flush against him. Their magical tattoos rubbed and swirled together, memorizing. The tingling burn mixed with the feel of Harry's tongue left him reeling.

Turning them over so that he was on top, Harry ground down frantically into Draco's hips. "I need…" he hissed.

Draco's eyes flew open, stormy gray meeting emerald green. "Yes." Arching against Harry, he moaned, "I want you inside me." A part of him pointed out logically that he'd never bottomed before, but it didn't matter. He'd never trusted before, either. All that mattered was that he needed _Harry_ to be inside him. "Now would be nice."

Harry gasped, groaning helplessly at Draco's words. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Draco snapped impatiently. "If you don't fuck me right now, Harry, I swear I'll…"

Cutting off his words with his mouth, Harry plunged his tongue in, a forewarning of what was coming. Summoning a jar of lubricant, he dipped his fingers in and reached down to gently explore the skin around Draco's anus. Whispering in his ear to soothe him, he eased one finger inside.

Draco moaned throatily as Harry found his prostate. Drunk on pleasure and Harry's sibilant whispers, he ordered, "More."

Complying, Harry slid another finger inside, lightly massaging the spot that made Draco squirm and cry out. He moved the fingers in a scissoring motion before adding a third.

"Fuck, Harry," Draco growled. "Enough teasing. I need you inside me."

Harry slid his fingers out and hesitated, licking a trail from Draco's navel to his chest, taking time on each nipple. "Have you…"

"No," Draco gasped out. "Doesn't matter, I'm ready." He arched up and pulled Harry's mouth to his, expressing his aching need in a soul searing kiss.

"Me neither," Harry confessed. "I don't want to hurt you."

Draco met his eyes. "Impossible. Just go slow."

Harry reached into the lubricant and liberally coated his cock. Pausing thoughtfully, he pushed Draco's legs upward and apart so he could align himself with his opening. Pressing his cock gently against it, he felt Draco tremble with need and trepidation.

In a flash of inspiration, he leaned down and hissed, "Sssthhhhssssssaiii." Draco turned instantly into a pool of jelly, and Harry took advantage of his relaxed condition to push his head slowly inside Draco's body. It was tight, and Draco flinched, instinctively clenching his muscles against the pain.

"Sssssssssssss," Harry whispered hotly against Draco's ear. "Sssssshhh love, sssshh, just relax."

Draco moaned. "Keep going," he instructed, losing himself in the vibrating sensation of Parseltongue slithering across his body. He felt Harry press slowly in, and he resolutely gritted his teeth against the burn. Harry paused to kiss him deeply and savagely.

"Fuck, Draco," he hissed. "Sssss, ssso fucking warm and tight." Sensing that Draco was still not enjoying the intrusion, he reached between their bodies to grab Draco's cock, pushing himself further in by increments.

The multitude of sensations distracted Draco from the pain until it began to ease, intermingling finally with pleasure. There was nothing hotter than a wet and hard Harry Potter, hissing like a snake against his skin. Then, Harry changed his angle slightly, and Draco's world exploded in a shower of brilliant stars.

"Fuck!" he shouted, bucking his hips. "Fuck, yes, right there!"

Harry groaned his pleasure, intensely happy that Draco was enjoying this as much as he was. Carefully hitting the same spot with every thrust, he gripped Draco's cock and fisted him in time with his movements.

"Sssssthaaaiiii," he hissed. "Oh fuck, Draco, I'm not gonna last long." He began to thrust wildly, leaning over to devour Draco's mouth. "Wanna taste your scream when you come," he murmured.

"Fuck!" Draco swore. "It's coming, oh Merlin, it's…." He bucked violently and screamed as he came all over Harry's hand. Harry swallowed Draco's scream and shouted as he came inside him.

They lay still for several long moments, regaining control over their breathing. Harry lazily waved a hand and cleaned them both, though the paint remained. "That was…"

"Fucking brilliant," Draco finished, pulling Harry down to lie beside him.

They curled together instinctively and fell asleep.

In the light of day, Harry was just as beautiful. Draco watched him sleep, unable to keep his fingers from following painted patterns on golden skin. The raven-haired wizard stirred, making happy little noises at the feel of Draco's hands. Finally waking, he opened one emerald eye to peek at his lover carefully.

"Morning, love," Draco greeted.

Harry grinned goofily. "Morning." A pause. "No regrets, then?"

"I damned well _do_ have regrets!" Draco retorted haughtily. At Harry's hurt look, he relented. "We could've been having hot, mind-blowing sex for _years_!"

Harry smirked. "Mind-blowing?" he repeated, letting his eyes graze lazily over Draco's magnificent form.

"_Years_, Harry!" he repeated indignantly.

Trailing a hand over Draco's bare bottom, Harry murmured, "You know; I might just feel inspired to sing an ode to your arse after all."

Draco sniffed. "It had better include the words _magnificent_ and _divine_," he warned, pushing the arse in question up into Harry's hand.

"Got it." Harry laughed and leaned in to capture Draco's lips in a long, languorous kiss. Draco reached up instinctively to wind his arms around Harry's neck and pull him closer. Several pleasurable minutes later, they pulled away.

"Mmmmf," Draco murmured happily.

Harry chuckled. "How very concise of you." Then, cautiously, "What're you doing today?"

The ex-Slytherin paused to consider. "Well," he said finally. "I've been to the beach loads of times, Harry, but I've never made a sand castle."


End file.
